My daughter, reader and world traveler

I've got a couple of reasons to be very proud of Z. If you read my husband's blog, you probably know what a champ she was during their five nights in Leeds, England. They traveled stroller-less, and Z walked all day without complaint. She also adjusted well to the time change, new sleeping arrangements and plenty of sightseeing just Dad and her Aunt Bethany.

Shortly after her return, met another milestone on the road to big-kidhood. She started reading! I knew she could sight read a few words and sound out all the letters from her phonics work at Montessori school, but on Saturday afternoon she picked up a dusty old copy of Hop, Skip Jumparoo Zoo from the basement shelf and proceeded to read me all 30 pages! She only needed help with a handful of words. It was obvious she was as proud of herself as I was of her. The lightbulb had been turned on and she realized I can really do this. Since then she's also read Biscuit and the Baby and a couple of other books. Since she's only 4 years old and a November birthday, she's going to be quite the accomplished reader before she enters kindergarten in the the fall of 2011. Until then, her Montessori school will let her progress as rapidly as she wishes.

I hosted a clothing swap!

Until Saturday night, I'd neither attended nor hosted a clothing swap. But after all the fun that was had, I can't imagine this kind of party not taking off--particularly in these economic hard times (two of my guests were laid off and looking for jobs).

After all, when was the last time you got to hang out with 15 fabulous women, drink wine, nibble on appetizers and exchange your ill-fitting clothes for a whole new wardrobe for free?

I'd set the start time for 7:30, but I wasn't expecting so many very prompt guests. My house was half-full by 7:45 and nearly everyone arrived by 8. While I was helping hang clothes and rotate appetizers into the oven (Trader Joe's Brie and Raspberry in Phyllo--love!), Josh put the girls to bed and fled to a Morrissey concert. As soon as the back door latched, women were dropping trou all over my first floor, trying on clothes and soliciting opinions. There was a lot of really good stuff, so in order keep it from becoming a total free-for-all, I announced rounds. As in "Round 1, pick the first item you really want and set it aside. When everyone's got something, we'll move onto round 2." After six go-rounds, the most sought-after stuff had been picked up and everyone was happy with their finds, so I declared open season on the racks.

I made out like a bandit, scoring a pair of dark denim designer jeans, black buckle flats, a silk floral J. Crew dress, a red and black corduroy strapless dress (worn once to a wedding), a couple of tweedy miniskirts and both shorts and capris from Banana Republic. Oh, and a red silk Chinese jacket and 3 or 4 blouses that had been left on the hangers at the very end. But it wasn't all about the get; it also was nice to see some of my favorite old clothes--items that no longer fit right but I couldn't bear to toss in the Goodwill pile--go to appreciative friends (who looked great in them).

The mix of attendees worked out really well, with overlapping circles of neighbors, preschool parents and ad agency people. I only wish that I got to talk to more people for longer, but I kept getting caught up in hostess duties: trashing abandoned cups, heating food and opening wine. And trying on clothes--that, too.

If you're inspired to host a clothing swap, make sure you've got clothing racks (I borrowed two), lots of hangers (not everyone brought them), empty tables (for folded items) and a couple of full-length mirrors (I borrowed those too). I cleared off the top of a cabinet for jewelry, placed handbags on a radiator and arranged shoes on the floor beneath the racks for my insta-boutique.

Always the baby, never an only (until now)

My 20 month old daughter A has always lived in the shadow of her 4-year-old sister, Z. But with Z accompanying her father on a week-long trip to England, I'm getting to know my second-born a little better. It's different, relating to her one-on-one. Of course, we've always had an hour alone together, here or there. She gets up earlier than her sister and she hangs out with me and her dad when big sis is out at a playdate or birthday party, but she's never experienced a whole day as an only child.

Now she's enjoying whole days without fighting to eat exactly what her sister's eating (preferably from the same plate). Without fighting over toys, over the front of the bath, over Mom. She's obviously reveling in my full, undivided attention--as well as that of her grandparents, who've been visiting for the weekend.

I'm waiting for A to demonstrate a longing for her missing big sister, but so far she's been content to play with their shared toys, read their shared books and jump on the couch alone. And as much as my heart aches for Z, I'm going to cherish these short days of getting to know my second toddler like I got to know my first.

It's almost bikini season

A new euphemism is born.

When sisters reunite

Aside from a brief moment this morning when A curled up on Z's lap and let her big sister feed her a sippy cup full of milk, it's gone from this to just like this at the Klein house.

Sometimes Mom needs a little mothering

My mom was here this weekend, and thank G-d. I wasn't sick, I'm not pregnant and no major crises were looming, but I'd been burning my metaphorical candle at both ends for so long I just wanted to hang up my Supermom cape for a couple of days.

So I let myself be mothered. Mom got up with A and fed her breakfast. She helped with dishes and laundry, and ran to Trader Joe's for me (and paid!). She babysat for A on Monday, playing Play-Doh and choo-choo for hours. She even taught her her colors!

She cooked me my favorite meals on Sunday and Monday nights and prepared macaroni and cheese for us to eat after she and Rick left this morning. It was awesome.

There's nothing quite like being a mother to make you appreciate being mothered. Thank you, Mom.

I sent my child 3000 miles away

Z's in England with Josh, visiting his sister until Thursday. Check out their adventures over on Josh's blog.

The magic of CIO

This morning A woke up again at 5am with the insistent call of "Mama, Mama," but as promised I popped a pair of earplugs in and did my best to ignore her wails.

She cried for 10-15 minutes and fell asleep. She cried for me again, briefly at 5:25 and 5:40, before sleeping soundly until 6:45, when she woke up babbling happily. I never, in my wildest pre-child dreams, would have considered 6:45am "sleeping in," but I'll take it, thank you.

She was a delight all day--didn't fall asleep in the car or have more than a couple of unreasonable tantrums. She also let me put her down once in a while instead of clinging to me like the overtired basket case she's been for the past week. And it was good that she was on her good behavior because my mom and stepdad arrived this morning for a visit--and unusual visit in that Josh and Z just took off for England for a 5 night trip to visit his sister. So for three days it will be a 3 to 1 adult to child ratio. Heaven!

Sleeplessness is a bitch

Have you read Hellhole in this week's New Yorker? Its a compelling, if awfully depressing article about how even short term stays in solitary isolation damage our brains. We're such social creatures that, if denied any human contact, we lose the ability to relate to others. POWs say solitary is just as torturous as bone-breaking physical torment.

At the risk of trivializing the subject, I want to talk for a minute about a different kind of torture: sleep deprivation. Our darling 20 month old has been moving her wake-up hour ever earlier, standing in her crib and calling "Mama" at 5, even 4am. We've been completely unsuccessful at soothing her back to sleep, and figuring that wretched rest is better than lying in bed listening to her scream bloody murder, we've brought her to bed with us for the last week or so.

But A does not curl up next to me and fall back asleep like a little angel. She climbs over me, tugs on and identifies my body parts, nestles her hard-plastic paci-mouth into my trachea and generally bugs the shit out of me until demanding "Down!" At which point Josh (bless his heart) takes her downstairs and rewards her bad behavior with an early-morning screening of Sesame Street. "Elmo!" I hear her exclaiming with delight.

Thanks to A, we're fried. Something's got to change, and I'm steeling myself for tomorrow morning, when I will be instituting "solitary confinement" in A's well-appointed baby jail. I will be strong. I will be ruthless. I will be buying earplugs.

A quick account of my whirlwind trip to Vegas

Wynn Las Vegas, very swanky
Yesterday morning was one of my proudest moments. I joined Liz, Christine and Lynnae on stage in from of 750 badge-wearing conference-goers where we sat Oprah-style on upholstered chairs and talked about the economy, the relationships retailers and brands need to build with shoppers and why they should care about what we bloggers think and say.

We told them we're wise to the grocery shrink ray. We're worried about food and drug safety. We want to eliminate HFCS and reduce wasteful packaging. We want to know about the people behind the products and about how the company treats its employees. We want transparency and a two-way dialogue with our favorite brands. We listed examples of companies that are listening and responding to consumers and offered a quick crash course in social networking.

The audience was filled with raised hands during a 15 minute Q and A and feedback about the session has been overwhelmingly positive.

But Las Vegas wasn't all stage lights and cordless mics. I got to hang out with Liz (of Mom-101 and Cool Mom Picks fame), who is even funnier in person than she is online. She regaled me with stories of her glamorous life as a high-powered NYC creative director at Deutsch in the 1990s and taught me how to play Blackjack (I was doing it all wrong). And as if it wasn't cool enough that we're both started our careers as big agency copywriters, we're also both partnered with guys with nontraditional careers and mothers to girls the same ages.

Liz in front of one of the Wynn waterfalls
Last night Larry took all the mom bloggers out to eat at Switch, a restaurant in the Wynn complex that uses some magical stagecraft to change décor every 30 minutes. I had a lobster salad, lamb chops and a peanut butter chocolate lava cake with bananas. It was fabulous-as it well should be for the price!

Lamb chops
After dinner we went to the nightclub Blush for complimentary champagne and a chance to feel really old and modestly attired.

We're like a secret tribe

Since I started at my current agency, two of my fellow P&G creatives started personal blogs. I'm going to go ahead and take some credit for that. Megan Boley started MegaGood, a beautifully photographed site that celebrates good food, great design, the beauty of our city and the loveliness of being a newlywed with no kids. Seriously, I think she and her husband eat waffle breakfasts in their beautifully made-up bed--with their cats--every day.

Bobbi Bowers is an even more recent addition to El Blogosphere, and I was thrilled that she discovered my copy room commentary and submitted it to Failblog! It was so meta to see my handwriting on her blog while I'm out of the office.

Viva Las Vegas (again)

I'm flying to Las Vegas tomorrow (and staying at the swanky Wynn!) where I'm going to be on the Mom Blogger Panel at the CPG Summit. I'll be in the company of three top bloggers, Liz from Mom-101, Lynnae from Being Frugal and Christine of From Dates to Diapers, as we tell 750 men (and yes, they're mostly men) why consumer packaged goods companies would be wise to pay attention to mom bloggers. Just like other mothers, we buy breakfast cereal, detergent, crackers and juice--but we talk about it more than anyone else and our conversations are linked to, Twittered and forever Googleable.

Beware the brand that pisses off a blogging parent. We can use our power for good (Z Recs raised awareness of BPA in baby bottles and now they're going bye-bye for good) and for bad (the ongoing hysteria regarding vaccines and autism), but you can't ignore us. Make that shouldn't. Portillo's continues to ignore me even as my old blog post gets 50 hits a day from folks looking for nutrition information.

Incidentally, I logged into Southwest's website to print out my boarding pass just 6 minutes after the check-in process opened this morning and I'm 22 bodies into Group B for my flight. I know my fellow SWA flyers are a pushy lot, but 82 of them set their alarms for 9:40?

I'm 99 percent sure our house isn't haunted

Nothing says "welcome to the neighborhood" like "your house was the scene of a brutal crime," which may explain why it took nearly 6 years for someone to tell me that a mentally unstable man killed his 70 year old mother, hacked her to pieces and lived with her decomposing body parts back in 1976. Apparently it took 4 days before a next door neighbor got suspicious and called the police.

I finally got the story from the youngest daughter of my recently deceased elderly neighbor. She and her husband have been cleaning out the house, which has been in their family since it was built in 1910 (the same year our house was built).

Now that my curiosity has been piqued, I'm going to try to find out more about the crime. One of my neighbors moved across the street just 4 months before the murder and she's promised to sit down and tell me what she knows. I'll post any updates here. And, in case you're wondering, I've never gotten any bad vibes from the house. I've always felt very safe here.

Evolution of a child artist

I never really saw the allure of kids' art until I became a mother. Now I'm one of those moms with my child's drawings up all over my office. Here's a taste of Z's oeuvre today.

She described this as a picture of herself "singing like the Little Mermaid in a dress covered in diamonds and ruffles." All of her pictures of girls include a long, long hair and a crown. Princess fascination, anyone?
In think she's come a long way since this February 2008 picture of our family.

Idle threats

I give Z a nightly massage, and she likes me to tickle her stomach with my fingertips. "Mommy, tickle me with your fingers and don't let your hands come down. If your hand touches, I'm going to take away all your earrings and all your necklaces and all your bracelets."

She also threatened me with the following in an attempt to keep me from leaving her room and going downstairs: "If you leave me, I'll be very upset and I won't let you put me to bed ever again!" She must have caught the glint in my eye, because she followed that up with "And I won't draw you in any of my pictures!"

A little bit of this, a little bit of that

I don't have any rants today, so you may wish to close your browser and nuke yourself a refrigerated Oscar Mayer sandwich. If you're going to stick around, though, lemme tell you the headlines from the House of Klein.

ITEM! We purchased tickets to Australia. All four of us will endure 20+ hours of air travel in United economy class for the pleasure of seeing my sister, brother-in-law, niece and yet-to-be-born nephew. The trip's not until November, and I'm having some difficulty imagining what it will be like with a 5 year old and a 2 year old, since I don't even know what regular life will be like with kids that old! I'm really looking forward to seeing my sis and her fam, whom I won't have seen in a year and a half, and watching the cousins run wild in her shared backyard, which was apparently equipped with consultation from Pee-Wee's Playhouse: trampoline, sandbox, garden, chickens and a dog. Oh, and they live 2 blocks from the beach. Woo-hoo!

ITEM! I saw Coraline in 3-D last night, and it was a triple-decker ice cream cone for my eyes. I tried not to get too wrapped up in the plot and surrendered myself the magical art direction and 3-D effects.

ITEM! I'm throwing a clothes swap party early next month. I picked a day when a lot of people are out of town for spring break, but I think I'll get enough yes responses to ensure a lively evening of wine, food and free wardrobe upgrades. If you read this blog and live locally, drop me a line and I'll send you the Evite.

A chip off the house

The junk truck that's been emptying out 40 years of accumulated stuff from our recently deceased neighbor's house took a softball-sized chunk out of our house on Friday. The guy who owned the truck, a small-time guy who looks well past retirement age, has acknowledged the mistake and promised he'll fix it up as soon as the weather improves. I hope he's as honest as he sounds because all I've got is his name, his telephone number and his word. I'm excited and a little nervous about the possibility of having new neighbors to our south. Clem, the woman who passed, was in her early 90s and barely there. Needless to say, we haven't had to share our shared driveway much. I'm hoping another young family moves in since the connected backyards get treated as one big playground in the summer months.

Speaking of summer, it did warm up quite a bit this weekend. After wearing silk long underwear to fend off a 17 degree chill on Wednesday, I hit the park in just a long-sleeved tee and jeans today. The kids are delighted with the spring-like weather. Z biked nearly 2 miles each day and A learned the joys of the teeter-totter.

Evolution of a night light

Z does not like to sleep quietly in the dark, that much is clear. She's a door open, lights on and music playing kind of kid, and for a few years she's supplemented the hall and bathroom light spillover with a low-wattage red plastic table lamp from IKEA.

There was something wild and a little spooky about checking in on your little one only to see her bathed in blood red light, but it worked. Still, Z didn't always go right to sleep and I worried that she was straining her eyes as she "read" books by crimson glow.

So I was delighted to replace the IKEA lamp with the woefully-named but wonderfully designed Sylvania PalPODzzz Portable Night Light. (Seriously, who named that thing and what were they thinking?!) This little light-sensitive rocketship now sits on Z's dresser and starts glowing as her room gets dark. Pick it up off its cradle and it's a powerful LED flashlight for looking at books and scaring away monsters after lights out.

Did I mention its rechargeable? Z, like all kids, loves flashlights, but since I don't like the cost or environmental consequences of buying batteries in bulk, I've limited their access to flashlights. But since this one is rechargable, there are no batteries to run through. Plus, since Z always puts it back in the cradle to glow, hers is the one flashlight in the house that I'll be able to find when the electricity goes out.

See what other bloggers has to say about the Sylvania PalPODzzz Night Light over at Parent Bloggers Network.

The case against breastfeeding?

Just reading the title, The Case Against Breastfeeding, raised my hackles. But the more I read, the more I found myself nodding along with Hanna Rosin's article in the most recent issue of the Atlantic Monthly.

Like me, the author nursed all her kids for a year, so hers isn't a defensive stance. What she's raising are a couple of interesting counterpoints to the breast-is-best-formula-is-poison blitz. She starts off as a heretic, saying that a close reading of various scientific studies doesn't support most claims that breastmilk is better than formula in terms of a child's IQ, BMI or general health.

Then she says that we're doing mothers a disservice by pressuring them to breastfeed at all costs. If nursing interferes with a woman's ability to work or makes her miserable, is a small potential benefit to her child's health worth making her suffer? Should we make women who are unable or unwilling to breastfeed feel like unfit mothers?

And she highlights a unexpected feminist argument too: if nothing can replace breastfeeding and only women can breastfeed, are we setting up an unequal balance of duties between mothers and fathers? Who's going to wake up at night to feed the baby? Who should stay home to raise the child? Are the answers to these questions going to be colored by one gender's mandate to breastfeed?

Obviously I made breastfeeding work for my kids while maintaining my status as the family breadwinner. But I was able to do so precisely because I didn't view formula as the enemy. There's no way I could have pumped enough milk to feed my children without seriously jeopardizing my career and my sanity so I supplemented. Also, I didn't nurse my kids to make them into superbabies--I did it because it was convenient, cheap and natural. A price and eco-conscious choice to be sure, but one that gave me and my girls enormous pleasure.

I want more women to breastfeed because it's wonderful, it's natural and it's priced just right. But it's apparent our culture needs find a way to support and normalize nursing without equating bottle-feeding with child abuse.

New York: I kind of miss my Grape-Nuts

Josh and I love to eat and NYC is home to much of the best food in the country, so the last few days have been organized around restaurants, cafes, coffee shops and ice cream parlors. Everything has been delicious, but I'm not exactly enjoying the balanced diet I've grown accustomed to and my body is starting to beg for a bowl of Grape-Nuts with berries and a nice glass of OJ.

Instead of lots of fruits, vegetables and whole grain cereal, I'm eating lots of sushi, pizza and pastries. Yesterday we spent the day with old friends from college and their better halves, including the entire original line-up of Josh's band Dingle (eventually renamed Aden). We breakfasted at Le Pain Quotidien before heading to Brooklyn, where we visited the New York Transit Museum, which is underground in a now-closed subway station. The museum was followed by Vietnamese sandwiches, local, organic, cruelty-free but definitely not fat-free ice cream and stops at friends' apartments. We concluded the evening with very good sushi, including a "Brooklyn roll."

Today's entertainment consisted of a shopping spree for me at the Japanese retailer Uniqlo (kind of a cross between Old Navy and H&M, but with more of an emphasis on basics and high technology) and a visit to the Jewish Museum. We got our food fixes at Lombardi's pizza, one of the last of the coal-fired pizzerias, Two Little Red Hens bakery (cupcakes) and Matsugen, where we enjoyed a fabulous 6 course prix fixe Japanese dinner for $35 each.



We head home to Chicago tomorrow afternoon. I'm looking forward to seeing my girls (and rescuing my in-laws from 5 days on non-stop babysitting).

New York: Standing Room Only

We're 2 days and 1 night into our 5 day, 4 night trip to New York City without the kids, who are at home in Chicago with my in-laws, who flew in to babysit them.


We left the Upper East Side this morning at 9:30am and I'm just now sitting down, on a chair, for the first time at 4 o'clock in the afternoon. Josh and I stood on the train to the Lower East Side and walked to Clinton Street Baking Company, where we'd hoped to indulge in the city's best pancakes. But just 15 minutes after the place opened, waits were being estimated at 45 minutes. So we got coffee and muffins to go and walked around the neighborhood until 11:30 or so. The Orchard Corset Shop, which I'd hope to visit, was closed, but we did poke around in the Economy Candy Shop.

Finally, at 11:45, we took a tour at the Lower East Side Tenement Museum, which was really great and an absolute must-see for anyone visiting New York. I think even Z would have appreciated a peek into the lives of people living in New York 100 years ago.

After our tour we stayed on our feet, wandering over to Russ and Daughters, where we got an onion bagel with green onion cream cheese and lox, couple of hamentashen and a Dr. Brown's Black Cherry soda to share on the way uptown. We walked and walked and walked some more, stopping into a few vintage clothing shops and the Virgin Mega Store and getting $4 soft serve at the famous Momofuku Milk Bar. Good, but not $4 a cup good, if you ask me.

Despite my comfortable boots, my feet were aching by 1pm, but I toughed it out. Sort of. Flipping through racks of 1960s cocktail dresses was definitely a better distraction from the pain that hanging out at Virgin, waiting for Josh to pick out just the right $10 DVD.

Tonight is wedding that is the reason, ultimately, that we are here. Tomorrow my goals include eating sitting down and visiting the New York Transit Museum.

Has mommyblogging jumped the shark?

Last week I almost disconnected my Twitter feed. I even, for a moment, considered shutting down my blog. I couldn't bear reading another "I've got a giveaway," "I'm on a trip to Brand X headquarters" or "pleaseDigg my latest post" tweet. I was saddened every time I turned to one of my favorite blogs and saw the personal, heartfelt content that had made me a loyal reader displaced by posts about Campbell's soup or how much fun it was to go to a blogger conference and shill for the sponsor who paid for the trip.

Far be it from me to begrudge another mother the chance to do something fun for free (particularly in this economic climate), but I worry that mommyblogging is evolving from its warm, wonderful beginnings as a sort of hybrid online diary-support group into a crowded, commercial enterprise withtoo many bloggers competing for share of voice and corporate hand-outs.

Don't get me wrong, I don't see marketing and blogging as mutually exclusive. Quite the opposite: I've worked both sides and been instrumental in bringing brands and bloggers together for mutual benefit. Mothers who blog are connected people both online and off and their recommendations can be a powerful source of trusted word of mouth. But the key word here is trusted. And a mommyblogger who spends more time marketing her blog, promoting products and chasing corporate sponsorships than she does writing about the ups and downs of being a mommy is going to lose that trust. Quickly. When trust goes, so does readership. And if you're in it for the money, well, you're not going to get any from a blog with no traffic.

I'm not in it for money or fame; I maintain my blog as a digital scrapbook of my life as a working mother of two, but if I were, I'd take a cue from the best brand marketers and keep it real. Successful brands, be they Coca-Cola, Apple or Tide, have one thing in common, and that's a sense of authenticity. Mommybloggers, of course, don't need to seem authentic. They are authentic, real people. Pleas stay that way.

Should I get this haircut?

Please vote in the comments. I tried to embed a poll, but it doesn't seem to work with a photo.

Food and my 19 month old

A only wants big pieces of fruit. Do not cut her fruit! She is undaunted by the size of this apple, but she will not finish it. It is, after all, approximately the circumference of her head. Instead, she will gnaw on it until it looks ravaged by a rabid squirrel and summarily hand it to me for disposal.

She demands "snack" 20 times a day. She has a snack in mind, perhaps, but any suggestions Josh or I make will be met with an angry "No!" Unless its a cookie. The girl also loves her "milk," "juicz" and "wa-wa" and demands them only slightly less often than "snack." She prefers her beverages served in an open-topped cup.

A has a pretty broad palate and many of her 75+ words are dedicated to foodstuffs, including: Cheerios, crackers, cookie, apple, peach, banana, peanut butter, bread, cheese, peas, apple sauce, beans, ice cream, hot dog and fries. She'll spoon up a bowl of Grape-Nuts or Cheerios and eat a PB&J with some measure of daintiness, but she prefers to feed herself oatmeal and spaghetti with meat sauce with her bare hands.

She does, however, punctuate every meal with a request for "nap-kin." She wipes her hands, face and the food-splattered tabletop in front of her, slides down off her chair and places the soiled napkin in the "tash." And yes, she quit using a booster seat at 18 months of age. To my eternal dismay.

I'm a gamblin' ma'am

As much fun as my solo dining experience was on Wednesday night, I was up for some dinner and conversation yesterday so I got ballsy and asked a someone out of a date. Sort of. I'm mean I'm married and she's married, but hell, we were two women at a marketing conference who kinda sorta know one person in common. What did I have to lose?

We ate at Wolfgang Puck's Trattoria Del Lupo, where a French waiter served us Italian goodies like wine, salad and a four cheese and prosciutto pizza. Then Theresa marched me over to the craps table and convinced me to throw away $20 on a little gambling. Between craps (which I still don't fully understand) and Blackjack, which I do (I mean, yes, I can count), I ended up doubling my money and walking away with $40!

Oh, and have I mentioned the people watching in Las Vegas? Where else in the world can you see hundreds of black-clad goth girls with asymmetrical haircuts (Paul Mitchell stylist convention) elbowing alongside the a bunch of slow-walking, slow-talking middle-aged white guys with oversized hats and belt buckles (MacDon agricultural equipment dealers)? I spotted a bridal party, some Harley toughs, extended families playing poker and a surprising number of crashed out babies dozing in their strollers as their mamas sucked down foot-tall frozen cocktails. Yes, there is no open container law in Vegas. Or dress code. Or taste, for the most part.

But there is excellent food, and for that reason I'm glad I'll be coming back next month.

At THEhotel

Not just any hotel, mind you. I'm staying at THEhotel, the casino-free high rise adjacent to Mandalay Bay where everything is black and cream and smells like vanilla. My room is very luxurious. Three sinks (not including the bar), two toilets, a glassed in shower stall and a tub big enough for a dolphin. But the fancier the hotel room, the fewer the freebies. An internet connection costs $14.99 a day and there's no in-room coffee maker or hair dryer. There are, however, three flat screen TVs, so I can lounge in the tub and watch MTV if I so desired.

Here's the view from my window. Parking lots and the airport. And no, that's not a ghost stadium hovering over the concrete; it's a reflection from a lamp in my room.

I hoofed it north this morning and had a buffet breakfast at the Luxor hotel--mainly because at $12.99 it was cheaper than a bowl of cereal from room service. I loaded up on fruit, granola and eggs with chorizo, but couldn't shake the feeling that the place smelled more like latent B.O. than freshly brewed coffee. And yes, in case you were wondering, the casinos were fully operational at 7am. I even saw a man in shorts and a polo shirt sipping a Heineken while feeding the one-armed bandit.

Doughnuts make everything better

Since the guys who used to prepare our taxes sold their business and parted ways with the accountant who used to work with us, we decided they weren't worth the haul up to Wilmette. I found a locally recommended office in Forest Park and Josh, A and I spent a full hour in a hot, windowless, drab office reviewing our piles of paperwork with our new CPA, Anna.

She seemed uber-thorough, bringing to light the utter slackness of our previous preparer. Whatever. I'm just glad she's nearby, on the ball and probably a bit cheaper than the old company.

I made to work halfway through our weekly status meeting, but since I brought a box of enormous and oh-so-delicious lemon, raspberry and apricot Paczkis, I was crowned Miss Popularity. I'm so glad Paczkis are only sold two days a year (they're a Fat Tuesday tradition), because they are irresistible.

Online dating, vicariously

One of my beautiful, single co-workers just joined an online dating site and watching her peruse her so-called "matches" before dumping loser after weirdo in the "fizzle" bin just might be the most fun way to waste time at work ever.

Theology from a 4-year-old

Z brought up G-d again this morning, which meant that as I was driving her to preschool, I was trying to explain that G-d is everywhere, but most importantly in our hearts. If we listen to the little voice inside us, I said, we're listening to G-d and we will know how to make the right choice and do good to others. For example, I said, if you listen to your heart, do you think it's better to push your sister or hug your sister?

"Hug my sister!" Z shouted. Great, I thought. But then she started her own little sermon on G-d, which I'm going to do my best to capture here.

"Everybody has a little G-d in their hearts. But G-d is also in the air. Is G-d a boy or a man?"

"G-d could be a man or a woman. G-d's not a person and since G-d's invisible, we don't know what he looks like."

"Well, his name is G-d and that sounds like a boy's name." What, because it rhymes with Todd?

"Oh, I know something, Mommy! Can I tell you an example? Girls and women have girl gods inside them and boys and men have boy gods inside their tummies. And we have to listen to the G-d inside us and do the right thing. Does that sound like a good idea?"

Sure, honey. It does.

Lovin' on some babies

Could I have picked a cuter photo for my 1000th blog post?

Josh and I took the girls to visit Jodi and her 2 week old baby Eviana this evening. We brought soup, granola and two onesies that I'd personalized with iron-on letters. One with the baby's name and one with "Old School," since Jodi and Peter own and operate our favorite local record store, The Old School Records.

Z and A went bananas for Eviana. Z cradled the sleepy baby in her arms (with the support of a Boppy pillow) for a long time, and proclaimed that she wanted to hold a baby "all day, every day." When we finally made her give Eviana up so that Josh could have a turn, little sister A grabbed herself a Boppy and reached up with both arms for her turn with Eviana. We didn't let her hold the baby, but she got in lots of caresses and kisses. When she wasn't demanding her turn with the infant, A was terrorizing Jodi's dogs, reprogramming her television and secreting Eviana's bottle in our backpack. Sneaky kid.

Interestingly enough, on the way home, A popped out her paci and said, quite clearly "Ev-a! Baby!" I asked Z what she thought of the baby and she said "Her head is very, very warm."

They said it best: Kids will not save your marriage

Everyone knows nothing quite tests a marriage like a couple of kids, but comparing 1 and 1 makes 4 to Survivor and The Amazing Race? Kind of brilliant, really.

Go read Her Bad Mother: The Amazing Survivor Race Challenge: Parenting Edition

But before you do, can I add that this race lasts 18 consecutive seasons with no hiatus, costs an arm and a leg to enter and offers no million dollar prizes or free trips to exotic locations?

What? You've already signed the reality show release form and confidentiality policy? In that case, cheer up with My Funny, Funny Family: Babies Don't Necessarily Make You Miserable.

CoCo Key Water Resort: Or, how we wiped out the kids in 2.5 hours

Was CoCo Key worth the $93 I paid for 3 full-price tickets (kids under 2 are free and I saved $8 per ticket using the promo code PARENT)? No. Emphatically no.

There's nothing wrong with the place, which is located in a Sheraton Hotel just north of IKEA. It was packed and loud but not chaotic. The locker rooms and pool areas were very clean. There were plenty of fresh towels and attentive lifeguards, and there's plenty to do.

If you're big and brave enough that is. Z is not.

We arrived right before the park opened and spent another $5 to secure a locker. We were in the water just after 10, and we stayed wet until we left around 12:30. (By 12:35 both kids were sound asleep in the backseat.)

We spent most of the time in the tamer little kids area, which has lots of water sprays, dumping buckets, a mini basketball court and 3 easy water slides. A had a blast, but didn't like having water splashed on her face. Because of all the water works, it was tough to find a spot for her to motor unmolested by buckets of water on her head. Both Josh and I took the girls on an inner tube on the lazy river, which they loved. There were tons of wild and crazy water slides and a water play ground that we didn't even venture near--but it looked like the late elementary and middle school-aged kids were in hog heaven.

Basically, I need to get the kids to a pool way more often in the winter, but this water park was way more than we needed for more than I cared to spend. Perhaps we'll try a half-day pass to the even-closer Mayan Adventure next time. Carrie managed to take her family there for just $15 a head!

Girl, you'll be a woman soon (in 1.5 years)

We took the girls to the Garfield Park Conservatory today. That as after Z had a morning playdate, Josh and I took A to our new favorite grocery store, Tony's Finer Foods, and I had my weekly introduction to Hebrew class.

Speaking of Hebrew, I've pretty much mastered the aleph-bet and can stumble my way through most of the words in my workbook. So I'm taking the next logical step (ha!) and signing myself up for at least a year and a half's worth of preparation for my Bat Mitzvah. Yes, I'm crazy. I just mastered my Hebrew ABCs and now I'm going to be learning how, not just to read Torah, but to chant it. On top of working full time, raising two little girls, blogging and everything else, I'm going to learn to read Hebrew fluently and master the marks of cantillation (basically an ancient form of musical notation). There's no way I'd take this on if my friend Nancy wasn't doing it alongside me. She's a single mom of two who also works full time in advertising and teaches fitness classes on the side, so if she can squeeze this into her life, I can too. And believe it or not, I'm not the only Chicago Moms Blog contributor embarking on an adult Bat Mitzvah.

My office is closed tomorrow, so I'm taking the family on a one day pretend vacation. We're heading to CoCo Key, an indoor water park in Arlington Heights.

The Valentine's Day that wasn't

I finally got wished a "Happy Valentine's Day" today at 7:36pm, just as Josh was heading out the door to a concert he's assigned to review.

No flowers. No cards. No chocolate or lingerie.

No surprise, really. Fortunately for him, my expectations were pretty darn low. Sure, I didn't do anything for him, but I feel like I get a pass because 1. I'd fully feted his birthday just three days ago and 2. I'm the girl. Doesn't that count for something?

Anyway, it's a stupid Hallmark holiday so I can't get the lacy red panties I didn't get in a bunch. If Josh is smart (or reading this), maybe he'll surprise me later with a heart-shaped box of candy from the Walgreen's clearance aisle or flowers on a day when they're not marked up 50%. That would be a man after my own heart.

Obamified

In honor of Presidents Day weekend, why not skip the mattress sales and dress yourself up like Obama?

You shouldn't do laundry on your birthday

Today is Josh's birthday. In his honor, I took him out to breakfast at the Depot American Diner and then bored him nearly to death at Target. I was combining a typical stock-up trip (diapers, contact solution, laundry detergent) with a store check for work, which means I spent a good deal of time taking stealth photos of beauty displays.

Tonight I'm taking Josh out again, this time to HotChocolate, and we'll also be swinging by the Alliance Bakery, where there's a lemon and fresh raspberry cake with his name on the buttercream. I'm also helping him pick out and buy a new suit at some point. He bought his current one for our wedding, almost 10 years ago!

But I think my nicest present of all is going to have to be my forgiveness. Josh threw a never-been-washed-before green throw rug into the laundry with a white load today and ruined every last item in the wash. But since it's his birthday, I officially don't care.

Update: I had a glass of wine and the cheddar melt, which was amazing: pumpernickel bread, artisanal cheddar, local honey and a side of granny smith apple slaw. Josh had mixed greens with pomegranate seeds and the duck cassoulet, which looked very rich. We split the peanut butter cup milkshake and went home for teeny weeny slices of his birthday cake. I swear I went to bed looking 5 months pregnant with a food baby.

Pictures of the Goony Sisters

Excuse me neighbor, your dog doo is a don't

As any Chicagoan knows, there's a dark side to any thaw in the weather: dog poop. As the snow melts, it reveals piles of piles that unscrupulous dog owners have "buried" beneath the white stuff. I don't appreciate having to navigate all the newly-exposed crap on my walk home from the train station, but keeping my small children and their strollers, bikes and small feet away from it, that really gets under my skin.

So imagine how delighted I was as I took my kids for a walk yesterday to watch a dog take a dump--not on the frozen tundra--but on my neighbor's newly exposed grass. And the woman walking the dog just walked away.

"Excuse me," I called after her, "aren't you going to pick up after your dog?"

"Not with my bare hands," she replied.

"You don't have a bag with you?" I asked, incredulously.

"No."

"So are you the reason I've been picking up so much dog poop from my front yard for the past couple of months?" I asked.

"Probably," she said, and continued walking away.

This woman's got me steamed. She lives in an apartment building around the corner from me and she knows I know where she lives; I'd just seen her leave her building! She didn't even pretend she'd "just forgotten" a plastic bag or say she'd "be right back" to clean up her dog's mess. I guess some people have no shame.

I've got a friend in the NY Times

If you've ever thought for a moment that women with a minivan full of kids are cockoo crazy, religious nutjobs or both, meet fellow Chicago Moms Blog contributor Meagan Francis. I've had the pleasure of meeting her and her four well-behaved boys (she's pregnant with her first girl) a few times in the past couple of years, and I'm thrilled to see she's representing for larger families in the New York Times.

Want to be thin and rich? Learn to cook.

The news that high fructose corn syrup has mercury in it didn't shock me. It's a substance I avoid. After all, no one cooks dinner for the family or bakes a batch of cookies for the preschool class with pantry bottle of HFCS. It's an industrial ingredient in processed foods. (You can learn more about HFCS from Mothergoosemouse.)
You see, processed foods aren't good for you. Or me. Or anyone else, really. I haven't read In Defense of Food, but I know that the more we eat factory food and restaurant food, the fatter we get because we really don't know what we're eating. Want shocking proof? Check out Men's Health's 20 Worst Foods in America.

Fortunately, this economic downtown might result in a healthier America, and not just because the Obama Administration favors health care for all Americans. I'm talking about people saving money by pulling out their dusty pots and pans and opening a cookbook. (Interestingly, I just read in Rob Walker's Buying In that 80% of Viking stove owners don't cook.

Get Rich Slowly: How to Feed Yourself for $15 a Day
Simple Mom: 18 Everyday Hacks for Cooking from Scratch

Mommyblogging for fun or profit

I mentioned earlier this week that my blogging and professional life were coming together nicely in the form of a trip to Las Vegas to sit on a panel with other, more famous mom bloggers (to be named later) and talk to corporate leaders about what moms want from them. But that's not all. I've also working behind the scenes at my agency to help them and my client understand how to better partner with the mommyblogging world. Mom bloggers are influencers in real life and online, and because their influence is Googleable from here to eternity, courting them is going to be a priority to marketers--at least in the short term.

But here's the rub. One of the questions I've been asked recently is whether so many mommybloggers have embraced companies, going on trips and accepting freebies, that they'll been seen as sell-outs and lose their credibility. I maintained that the best bloggers are sensitive to the issue: they know that if they sacrifice their honest voice to become corporate shills they'll alienate their readers. And what's a mom blog without any readers? A diary, basically.

Mocha Momma put up an interesting post on a related topic this week, railing against women whose motivation to start a blog is getting free stuff from companies. Which, if you think about it, makes very little sense. If readers what to know about your favorite hand cream, it needs to be in the context of your life. And if you don't have a readership to start with, no company worth its salt is going to send you free hand cream.

A very, very good hair day

I'll probably never again replicate my hair stylist's meticulous flat-ironing, but I sure feel glamorous today!

And, I got some very exciting news...I'm going to be on a panel of mommybloggers
before an audience of retail and CPG (that's consumer packaged goods) bigwigs so I can help them understand what moms want from brands and stores. It's the perfect opportunity for me since I've been on both sides of the shopping cart, so to speak.

I'd lose my head if it wasn't screwed on

Today I set a record for things lost or forgotten in 8 hours.

My hat. I'd only just bought this hat to replace the hat I'd left on the El train 2 weeks ago. And if you guessed I left it on the train, well, you'd be right. Bonus points if you also know that I managed to lose the hat a friend had so kindly loaned me while I was hatless. Which basically means I'll have spent $32 + $32 + whatever it costs to reimburse my friend and I'm still without a hat. In Chicago. In February.

What else did I forget? My workout clothes. I made it to my favorite weight-training class at noon and grabbed a spot only to discover my shorts and shirt weren't in my locker. Did I take them home or leave them in the changing room last week? Honestly, I have no idea.

So I decided to use my lunch hour to look for a dress to wear to a NYC wedding I'm attending next month. I didn't find a dress, but I did leave my necklace in the changing room. (I've since returned to claim it.)

I also forgot my period starts today. Which means I forgot to bring Tampax.

So I can't keep track of my clothes, accessories or monthly cycle, but I did reach into my coat pocket to discover that, in addition to remembering my house keys, I brought a pacifier to work.

Truth is stranger than fiction

Turns out the 33-year-old California mother of octuplets already has six children under 8 at home. Home, by the way, is her parents' house. She doesn't have a husband--or even a father for her enormous brood, all of whom were reportedly conceived via a sperm donor.

Just when I think the news can't get any weirder, it does. Rich people from New York to Miami lose their fortunes in a Ponzi scheme. Illinois finally punishes a corrupt politician, impeaching Rod Blagojevich. Chicago's cold winter weather is really, really cold.

But seriously, where does a unmarried, unpartnered mother of six (including 2-year-old twins) get off signing up for fertility treatments? If she loves being pregnant so much, perhaps she should have signed up to be a surrogate. At least she'd net 20 grand and plenty of warm fuzzies for loaning out her womb.

Fourteen young kids. One mom. A grandmother on hand and grandpa in Iraq. How soon will we see this family paraded across our TV screen? Perhaps they'll get a TV show along the lines of Jon and Kate Plus Eight. And some other misguided mother out there will feel the multiple-birth bar's been raised. Can she be the first to give birth to nine?

Medical science is responsible for amazing advances in managing high-risk pregnancies and saving preterm babies, but it's getting a little ridiculous. You don't win by getting your birth story on the national news. You win when you give birth to a healthy, wanted child that your family can provide for. Financially and emotionally. Because even if this news-making family were millionaires instead of people just emerging from bankruptcy, there's no way any of those 14 young kids will get enough one-on-one time with mom.

Princess Vomit gets a morning with Mom

Z was unusually sedate yesterday afternoon--turns out she was running a fever. Josh dosed her with ibuprofen and let her eat a bowl of Grape-Nuts for dinner instead of the tacos he'd made for the rest of us. As we were clearing the table Z stood next to my chair, ashen-faced. At the same time, Josh and I asked "Are you going to throw up?"

"Nuh-uh," she replied. Fifteen seconds later, she was vomiting all over the floor.

She hasn't run a fever or barfed since, but she's home from school regardless. I'm staying home with her this morning, watching Curious George, playing Go Fish and coloring in her Charlie & Lola coloring activity book while Josh takes A to her parent-tot class at Temple.

So far, the only sign of sickness is a runny nose.

How long until this one catches it?

Bronzed, but beautiful?

I went to this Women Who Wine event at HouseRed (a wine store) last night, a kind of face-to-face cocktail party for moms from the Oak Park area who subscribe to MomMail. Turns out I knew 3 women there in addition to the 3 friends I'd encouraged to come.

And aside from sampling wines, nibbling on appetizers and meeting a lot of fun, outgoing people, I got spray-tanned.

No, I didn't take it all off, but I did strip down to my bra before stepping into local esthetician Kristie's personal spray tan tent (imported from Australia!) and getting misted with tanning solution. Hey, it was free! I was curious!

Anyway, I now look about as gold as I've ever been in my life. I'm a slave to the SPF, so I don't think I've been this brown since I was a teenager. It's a little disconcerting, but I do think it disguises all my skin imperfections pretty well.

Montessori night with Z

Tonight was "parent-child night" at Z's Montessori school, which meant a third of her class came in with their parents for an hour. Z demonstrated her emerging reading and writing skills and her knowledge of South American geography.

I'm always amazed by how tidy and organized her classroom is. It's large--about the size of two high school classrooms--and every space under four feet is filled with perfectly labeled boxes, trays, bins and drawers. The 3-6 year old students take such pride in treating the materials with care and putting them away just so. I asked her teacher how many different kinds of "work" her classroom has and she replied "thousands," because not only are there hundreds of activities, each one can be used in a variety of different ways.

Z was so pleased to have us as her guest and demonstrate her "big work" for us. She asked me to come back tomorrow and watch her color and label a map of Australia.

Inadvertent use of the term "bloodbath"

In the process of explaining to Z why it wasn't a good idea to jump off the step stool into the bath, I said that she would likely crack her head open on the side of the tub.
"And then blood would swoosh all over and it would be a bloodbath?" she responded, oh so innocently.
"Yes, it would be an utter bloodbath," I replied.

Book review: Who By Fire

If you've friended me on Facebook, you know I read a lot of books. My 30 minute commute is perfect for that. In the past month I finished Beautiful Boy, A Mercy, Jesus Land and Factory Girls, loving all but the last one. But I'm reviewing Who By Fire since it is the only book I read for a book club, and my book club is a bloggers' book club. Which means you don't have to take my word for it; you can see what a dozen or more women across the country have to say about Diana Spechler's tale of a family still reeling from the childhood abduction of its youngest member.

Who By Fire tells the story of a family torn apart by kidnapping from the perspectives of its two surviving children (both are now young adults) as well as their mother. Bits, desperate for affection and attention in the face of her family's loss, is self-destructive and promiscuious. Her younger brother Ash deals with his guilt by becoming an Orthodox Jew and fleeing a yeshiva in Israel. Their mother, in a desperate attempt to reunite the family, spins a web of lies and gets mixed up with an unsavoring guy who promises to "deprogram" her overly pious son.

The book reads like a mystery, something I wasn't expecting from a piece of modern Jewish literary fiction. As the plot thickened, I found myself sucked into the dramatic, if somewhat far-fetched story. I sped right through to the happy ending, which strained the limits of believability, tying up all the loose ends into one perfect bow.

Trust me, Trust Me's good

I don't have cable, but if I did, I can tell you what I'd be watching Monday night on TNT: Trust Me, a new drama/comedy set at a large Chicago ad agency based on the very place I work. I was lucky enough to preview the first two episodes and attend a lunchtime meet and greet with Monica Potter on Friday; she plays an award-winning yet highly insecure divorcee/copywriter on an otherwise all-male creative team.

The real Monica Potter is nothing like her character; she's a down-to-earth mother of three eager to dish off-the-record about the foibles of raising two teenage boys and a 3-year-old girl with a roomful of female bloggers.

As a female copywriter at a large advertising agency, folks want to know if I think Trust Me has any basis in reality. To which I'd reply yes, as much as any TV show is an accurate representation of life on the job. It's a glamorized, simplified version of what I do that highlights only the interesting bits. Just as the nail-biting moments on The Shield (my current addiction) and The Wire are probably based in truth, the reality of being a police officer probably includes a lot more interviewing of pickpocket victims and filling out of paperwork. But really, who wants to watch episode in which everyone attends a process meeting or brainstorms 25 ways to say "Now more absorbent than ever?"

How I stopped the bedtime battles for just 3 cents a night

Once in a great while I have to stop and give myself a great big parental pat on the back. This is one of those times. For months I've been driven slowly crazy by 4-year-old Z's ability to streeetch out bedtime with requests for fresh water and fixed blankets and the complaints that she's too hungry/lonely/not tired to sleep.

Finally, I called bullshit on her bullshit and instituted a financial incentive program that not only quiets our evenings (and my nerves), it teaches her a bit about saving money and delayed gratification.

Here's how it goes. Every night I place three pennies on Z's bedside table. (It is very important that she is in possession of the pennies; promised pennies do not work nearly so effectively.) Z loses a penny every time a parent has to come upstairs. Once in a while Z decides that a bedside visit from Mom or Dad is worth a penny, but she rarely gives up more than one cent a night.

In the morning Z places her pennies in her penny jar. She likes to take them out and count them up, knowing that when she gets around 70¢ she can buy a candy bar or some gummy bars and pay the cashier with her very own money.

We've been using the pennies for over two months now, and I'm honestly a little surprised it's still working so well. Hopefully I won't jinx myself by blogging about it!

Apparently pennies are a popular incentive. Check out Make and Take's Going Potty for Pennies.

Worth reading now

I've been seeing the tacky Obama commemorative tchotckes in the Sunday coupon inserts for some time, but I'd missed the "Party like a Barack star" thong. See all the hideous merch in this
Slate slideshow.

With overstuffed racks and the smell of mildewy books, thrift store shopping can be a little overwhelming. I like Simple Mom's tips for thrifting successfully.

Hungry for more smart shopping tips? Fellow Oak Parker Carrie from Shoplifting with Permission puts all of her frugal shopping know-how in one bookmark-worthy post.

Now, I'm off to read Rob Walker's new book, Buying In.

A very, very good day

Not only was my heart filled with hope (and my eyes with happy tears) as I witnessed the swearing in of our new President this morning, I came home to find $70 in free money in the mail!

T-Mobile sent me a $20 Visa card to thank me for my continued patronage (I've been with them since the old days of Voicestream). And USAA wrote me a letter apologizing for my poor experience with their Roadside Assistance program that came with two $25 American Express Gift Cheques!

The economy hits Twinkle Toes enrollment

Not only are Americans cutting back on hair coloring, house cleaning and dog walking services, it appears they're cutting back on their kids' extra-curricular activities as well. The Oak Park Park District called me today to say that only 2 children enrolled in the Thursday session of Twinkle Toes, the preschooler dance class at our local park district building. The woman on the phone said she's never had a Twinkle Toes class cancel for low enrollment in the 8 years she's worked for the district, and she went on to say that a lot of classes in the park district and elsewhere are seeing very low enrollment thanks to the slumping economy.

For a moment I considered pulling the plug on the class, but I ended up moving Z to the Wednesday session. Until this brutal winter weather improves, I'm willing to pony up for a little indoor activity and excitement--even if I won't get to witness any of the leotarded cuteness.

Damn, it's cold

It was -10 with a windchill of -25 during this morning's commute. So cold my toes stiffened under tights, socks and winter boots and it hurt to breathe. So cold I put A in a snowsuit, scarf and hat to walk 2 doors north to daycare. Z was similarly bundled for her trip to the car for preschool drop-off.

I'm so tired of this weather.

I don't miss my breast pump

Reading Baby Food in the New Yorker brought back memories of my days in the Mothers' Room.
How I don't miss the days before I hung up my horns for good. The article's got some interesting history on the rise and fall of breastfeeding rates from the mid-1800s to today, and it raises some interesting questions about how family-friendly all those breast pumps and lactation rooms really are:

"No one seems especially worried about women whose risk assessment looks like this: 'Should I take three twenty-minute pumping ‘breaks’ during my workday, or use formula and get home to my baby an hour earlier?'"

Worth reading now

Finally, a Book is Rallying Resistance to the Autism Crusade. Also in the NY Times, A Pediatrician's View of Rude Children. Apparently good manners come from setting limits. See how the mommyblogger elite are disciplining their children on Momversation.

What a difference an hour makes

We're were a smiley, happy family this morning. Having Z wake us up at 6:40 with a chirpy "Mommy, is it okay if I turn on the bathroom light?" is so much more pleasant than being jarred awake by Baby A hollering her head off at 5:30 so that fill an extended morning with food-throwing, parent-slapping and "no-no-no-no-no" shouting.

Even though we had exactly 1 hour and 20 minutes to clean, dress and feed the family, shovel the walk, drop off A at daycare and pack lunches for me and Z, we were all cheerful and calm. There was not a single temper tantrum.

They look sweet and innocent. Don't be fooled.

Two adorable preschool girls enjoying an afternoon playdate. One's 4, the other just turned 5. My husband's home "supervising."

How much trouble can two little girls get into in 5 minutes alone in the bathroom?
Let's see...
A sealed carton of Epsom salts, opened and perhaps tasted.
Half a container of liquid hand soap, spilled on the floor.
A bottle of nail polish remover, splashed into the bathtub.
Josh's razor, broken.
Z's butt, incompletely wiped.

Z's not the mischievious type, but apparently she's highly suggestible. She's the girl from those afterschool specials on peer pressure.

"What did you open Mommy's things and do stuff you knew was wrong?"
"Because my friend said we should."
"What did she say, exactly?"
"She said 'Let's make a disaster.'"
"And why didn't you say no?"
"I don't know," she shrugs, "but I promise I'll never do it again!"

On the cusp of reading

Z, who turned 4 in November, is showing more and more signs of reading readiness. She can sound out a lot of words and yesterday she wrote MGAZEN and said "Look mommy, I spelled magazine. I just sounded out the letters!" Before MGAZEN, all the words Z's written have been memorized, and most of them are the names of her family members or friends.

Check out this Slate article on how you can help your infant, toddler or elementary school child build his or her reading skills.

Bleeding red and seeing purple

Facebook is more than a just a virtual watercooler; it's like the corner bar where old colleagues can gather to hear the gossip and say goodbyes. And it's where I heard a lot of sad news coming from my old employer, Ogilvy. It seems at least 6 of my former co-workers got laid off today as Big Red bled off 10 percent of its workforce. I've know so many people who've lost their jobs in the past 6 months I've lost track.

It's a very tough economy in which to find yourself jobless, and I'm feeling so thankful right now to have a job. And one I really enjoy at that.

If you know of any agencies looking for copywriters, art directors, creative directors or planners, I'm LinkedIn with a bunch of superstars.

Speaking of jobs, do me a big favor and watch the People's Choice Awards Wednesday night at 9/8c on CBS. I've been working hard on the CVS/CoverGirl program integration, a surprise makeover that will happen backstage during the broadcast. And if you can't stay up to see the whole show, go to CVS and check out the beauty department for our People's Choice Awards displays and coupon booklets.

#1 Step-Grandpa

When my mom got married last summer, everyone followed up the inevitable "Well, do you like the guy?" with "Do you consider him your stepfather?"

Yes and no, in case you're wondering. Rick's an amazing guy. He treats my mother like gold, which is really all I require of him, but he's also personable, caring and loves to laugh. But my stepfather? I'm in my thirties, thanks. I'm not in the market for a father figure.

But for the past few days I've watched the man-who-isn't-Dad gracefully step in to a grandfather role my own dad never got to play. During our stay with my mom and Rick, the girls really bonded with the man their Nanny married. He cheerfully carried them around, read books, played with toys and told elaborate bedtime stories. The girls couldn't get enough of him. Every time A saw him, she's raise her arms and cry "Up!" Z pestered him nonstop, begging him to let her crawl on his lap, help him care for his fish tank, play ping-pong and read yet more stories. Never once did he seem to tire of their antics or reveal the slightest annoyance as my two rugrats scattered toys across the living room floor, spilled food in the kitchen and generally made a racket wherever they went.

I was fond of Rick before, but through my children he's found a permanent place in my heart. He might never be my stepfather, but he'll be my kids' maternal grandfather for life.

And I'd be remiss if I didn't give a shout-out to my stepsisters--though I'm loathe to call them that since we never had to fight over the bathroom or the car. Ella and Emily are now Aunts Ella and Emily. Welcome to the family.

In Arlington

As far as travel with two small children goes, today's trip from Chicago to Northern Virginia was a piece of cake. Our Southwest flight had plenty of room to spare and Josh and I divided and conquered. He sat with Z (and her new Leapster). I entertained A with board books and snacks before she finally fell asleep 30 minutes before we landed.

The girls took exactly 0 minutes to reaquaint themselves with my mom (Nanny) and her husband, Rick, and we spent an easy afternoon reading books, romping around and playing the handful of toys my mom keeps around for their amusement.

The girls are sharing a bedroom for the first time tonight. A's been asleep for about an hour, but Z's in there "reading" books by faux candlelight. Hopefully we'll all get some rest tonight, but I don't have my hopes up.